


terracotta mud

by gunk



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Bottom Snake, Canon-Typical Violence, FOXHOUND, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Pre-Canon, Sweat, don't look at my fucking boner when we fight, gray fox is a power top sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 07:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18516550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunk/pseuds/gunk
Summary: Who knew that being kicked square in the face could be a turn-on?





	terracotta mud

Head wounds always bled more than they had any right to.

Snake had long since started- unsuccessfully- to crawl his way back up to his feet when a boot pressed him belly-down back into the dirt. Placed squarely on his shoulder, he didn’t have the energy to fight it anymore; another match won for Frank. They weren’t keeping score, not anymore, but they both still mentally chalked up yet another point to his side as Snake fully collapsed to the ground. With an imperceptible expression, Frank shoved his partner back up into a sitting position.

“That looks pretty bad.”

_ And I couldn’t tell from the blood streaming down my face? _

It’s what he wanted to say. Snake parted his lips to deliver the quip, looking into Frank’s chestnut eyes, but nothing seemed to come of it. He panted, running a thumb across the fresh gash just above his eyebrow, and then winced.

“I just told you it looks bad, and you touch it?”

“Yeah.”

There was a palpable beat of silence between them, before Frank broke it with a chuckle. He knelt down beside Snake, still panting himself, and those brown eyes locked with Snake’s again as Frank pressed the sweat-drenched palm of his hand to the side of Snake’s face. The roaring of Snake’s heartbeat in his ears was almost comical, especially coupled with the casual, almost knowing way that Frank tilted his head back for a better look.

“You’re kind of an idiot sometimes,” Another noise, though this couldn’t quite be called a chuckle. “We should probably go fix that.  _ Can’t fix you being a dumbass, though. _ ”

Frank helped Snake to his feet, using every modicum of height difference that he held to try and support his battered friend. It felt performative to still call him a ‘friend’, but- well, who exactly was there around to explain the situation to? They had each other, two idiots beating the shit out of one another on a field so filthy that it was no wonder they hadn’t both gotten tetanus.

Steps from inside, Snake stopped, twisting slightly against Frank.

“‘Need a smoke.”

“You need to look in the fucking mirror.”

Snake scowled. “Who’s the one who kicked me in the goddamn face?”

Even though he couldn’t keep a straight face for the statement, scowl dissolving into a goofy grin, Snake still worried that his joke had flown over Frank’s head when the other seemed to react...poorly. Grabbing him by the dogtags that hung limp around his neck, Frank dropped any pretense of tact, full-on dragging Snake into the barracks that they called home.

" _O_ _h, fuck._ ”

There was a dirty mirror set above an even less-welcoming sink, right at the first turn once you got inside. Frank released Snake as soon as he’d caught a glimpse of himself through the grime, his face painted so thoroughly in cherry-red that it could have passed as deliberate. More was still flowing, though the gush had turned to a deeper, thicker trickle.

“Here.”

“Thanks.”

Though there was almost always an unlit cigarette tucked just behind one of Snake’s ears, Frank had done him the favor of grabbing him one still unspoilt by salacious amounts of blood. He would have still tried to smoke it, sure, but it was the gesture that counted.

“You got a-”

The words ‘got you covered’ didn’t even have time to leave Frank’s mouth before he was lighting it for him, nor before he was getting to work at scrubbing the blood and assorted detritus off of his face. Methodological, Frank worked in silence- though, like with outside, it wasn’t truly ‘silent’. As they had been accompanied by the chirp and buzz of jungle insects, by the roar of an unseen machine, now it was their labored breathing and the squeak of an unconvincingly-sound sink that filled up the space between them. Blood slowly disappeared off of Snake’s face, and soon a stark-white bandage was standing out like a blemish on his tattered browline.

“You also got kinda fucked up.” Snake gestured with his cigarette, though not really gesturing  _ at _ anything. There was a lot to choose from- new blood, old blood, scars from both recent and long-gone fights.

“I didn’t say to move yet.”

Had it not been in the middle of a rainforest, the words might’ve sent a chill down Snake’s spine. It was a different feeling, custom-tailored to the kind of Hell that they dwelled in; like a roll of steam straight down his back. The rag that Frank had been using to clear Snake’s face made a once-over of his own, before that still-somehow-sweat-drenched palm made a recurrence at the side of Snake’s head.

The dregs of a nosebleed that Snake hadn’t realized he had were starting to make themselves apparent, and Frank swiped the fresh smatter of blood off of his face. They’d both broken their noses enough times now- both against and apart from one another- that it didn’t really seem like a true fight if one of them  _ wasn’t _ walking away with one. Frank’s hand lingered even after the drip of blood had stopped.

Something inside of him told him not to move, even after Frank had done his part. Something kept him looking into those impossibly deep brown eyes, at that crooked nose, at everything that made up his masterpiece of a face. Something kept him obeying an order that, to most, would have been read as expired. But they weren’t most people, the two of them, and only they seemed to get that.

“You ok after that?”

It was gruff and shaky- a courtesy. They both already knew what they were doing, even if Snake didn’t know exactly  _ how _ , or exactly what Frank had planned for this time. The barracks were empty, and would be for an hour more; it was time enough to get creative, sure, but neither of them were exactly artists.

Snake parted his lips to answer, but the back of Frank’s fist abruptly rubbing against his chin made him falter. He swallowed, hard, and those familiar brown eyes seemed to track every twitch of his throat as he did so. Snake settled on a nod- a clear answer, exuding just as much effort as Frank had put into posing the question. The hand holding the bloodied rag, still spread across the side of Snake’s head, unfurled to jab a ragged thumb at his lips.

“I don’t need to tell you what to do.”

Mumbled, still shaky, still gruff. It wasn’t a courtesy anymore, but just like Frank’s question, it served the same purpose: making him feel better about the events that they both knew would transpire. Snake’s lips stayed parted to accept it into his mouth, briefly rubbing against nicotine-yellowed and battle-worn teeth. Neither of them had the patience for it.

“ _ Down. _ ”

He didn’t give orders anywhere except here, in the cramped, sweaty, too-hot places that they jammed themselves awkwardly into between missions or endless practice. It wasn’t Frank’s place, and he didn’t challenge it; just like Snake didn’t think twice as he took his place on his knees. He swallowed again, harder than before, but Frank’s eyes tore away from his throat before he could finish watching the hypnotic action of his muscles working.

Tanned skin against brown, olive drab cotton against off-white, Frank unbuckled his belt and slid it off just enough to gain clearer access to his pants’ button. When they were both still new to this, there had been a tangle of hands as Snake tried futilely to contribute more, but even that little scrap of power was something that Frank wanted- needed, maybe- to hold in his own. It didn’t matter now, really, as Snake was already bracing himself against Frank’s thighs, taking sharp inhales of preparation and fighting back a wince from the pressure on his bruised legs.

Snake’s mind only faltered for a moment, and not long enough to cause any real delay, but that not-even-a-half-second of thought still gnawed at him. The inevitable chewing-out that they’d both get for leaving the faucet running was worth it, if just for the excuse; it kept suspicion off of whatever the fuck they were  _ actually _ doing right now, even though it must have been starting to get obvious. The rickety creaking and sputtering of the tap helped Snake to focus just as quickly as it had distracted him, and he closed his eyes before wetting his lips.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to look, but that he  _ couldn’t _ . It would have overwhelmed him. The shifting sensations of a hand gripping his hair, of Frank’s fist now trading off to be the tender embrace at his face’s side, of Frank pressing at his lips- they were overwhelming enough as it was. Snake shuddered, and tried to refocus himself. 

“C’mon.”

Frank’s hand tightened in his hair, but he didn’t pull Snake forwards; nor was there anything more than a suggestion in his voice. The truth was that they’d  _ always _ be new to this, it’d  _ always _ feel scandalous, and it’d always take awhile for Snake to take a deep breath in, loosen up his jaw, and take Frank into his mouth like he’d been wanting to since before they started fighting. Frank groaned, but cut himself off with a hiss; the hand in Snake’s hair twisted further.

There was no space to pull off, or even to pull back, but Frank’s own focus returned soon enough and he was able to take over most of the work. He lifted his more lax hand off of Snake’s face to grip against the side of the sink, still not confident that it wouldn’t collapse as he gave a few exploratory thrusts. Snake couldn’t help but flutter his eyes a bit as Frank got more gutsy, favoring that to gagging as he was made to deepthroat more of Frank than he was prepared for. He must have still gagged some, as Frank gave a harsh almost-chuckle above him and pulled his head just a little bit tighter against his thighs.

“It was so hard not to just do this out there.”

With another harsh thrust, Snake realized that he had been whimpering; he didn’t stop, nor was he sure that he could. Frank was heavy in his mouth, not overly long or thick but still feeling like a feat and a half. The salty taste of sweat was almost cloying on his tongue, but Snake managed to swallow back any instinctive revulsion; no, he  _ liked it _ , in theory, and he was determined to learn how to handle it better in practice, too. There were a lot of things that he was trying to learn with this.

“When the fuck did you start doing that!?”

He wanted to smile, but it would have been too hard to keep up. Frank was methodological in this just like he had been in cleaning the spent blood from his face, and the little room that he’d left for Snake to work his tongue was made even lesser by Frank pulling him closer. The bridge of Snake’s nose was jammed against silver hair, against more overpowering sweat, and he finally broke a bit and gagged.

The smile that he had wanted to give- though it had never seen the light of day- was so graciously returned to him from above, as Frank chuckled and picked up the pace just about as much as Snake thought he was able to. Snake’s eyes rolled back in his head, throbbing within his own uniform as he was once again made to deepthroat Frank’s cock throughout his climax. He made a valiant effort not to gag at  _ this _ cloying saltiness, too, but as Frank’s hand twisted mindless circles in his hair, even as he finally,  _ mercifully _ pulled back a bit, Snake just couldn’t hold out. Frank leaned back to watch the muscles of Snake’s throat work as he swallowed as much as he could, the rest dribbling onto his full lips and down the front of his shirt.

“You want to go next?”

It was breathless, gruff, though not as bad as before. It was less for his own satisfaction than before, too. Snake nodded a more enthusiastic reply, and Frank knelt down beside him, scarred hands deftly unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants.

“Fuckin’ come on-”

“Be glad I’m doing this for you at all.”

Snake shut his eyes and groaned as soon as Frank made contact. It might have sounded like petty griping to anyone else, but he knew that it was a compliment-  _ you fucked me up so bad that this is all I can manage in return _ . There was nothing to grip except Frank’s shirt, his muscular arms too slick to use as leverage as Snake tried and (mostly) failed to pump against the other’s hand. He wasn’t made for this kind of endurance, this kind of direct attention, and it was less than a minute before Snake was coming, too.

The running water, their labored breathing, and the roar of more distant vehicles were all that they had to fill the space between them, but there was no need for it. They had collapsed against each other, embracing in a more raw and primal way than they could have managed in any other moment, sweat and blood and jungle dirt mingling on their foreheads. Snake pulled back, plucking his all-but-forgotten cigarette off of the floor, but it wasn’t quite clear which one of them spoke next,

“We’re finishing this in the shower.”

**Author's Note:**

> thinking snake tops? i have to laugh


End file.
